Stasis
by WeatherWatch
Summary: The vampire Sanguini meets a heartbroken Lavender on his way to the Slug Club Christmas party.


**The vampire Sanguini meets Lavender on his way to the Slug Club Christmas party. Probably not canon-compliant.**

**Disclaimer: I gain nothing but satisfaction from this work of fan-fiction. All recognisable features and ideas belong to their respective owners.**

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><p>"<strong>stasis"<br>**and all i can taste is this moment  
>and all i can breathe is your life<strong><br>**( _iris_ ; _goo_ _goo_ _dolls_ )

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><p><strong>- - SanguiniLavender B.- -**

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><p>Hogwarts has not changed in two hundred years; Sanguini knows this fact intimately – after all, he attended the school himself as a young wizard in the late eighteenth century before his rather unfortunate transformation at the hands, or rather teeth, of an elderly vampire named Eisúl in his final year.<p>

He traverses its ancient corridors now as one of the more controversial figures of Wizarding society and searches this night for the Potion Master's rooms where Professor Horace Slughorn is entertaining with his customary Christmas party. It is always a great honour to receive an invitation, being what he is, and so it is with great pleasure that he attends.

"Oh, Lavender, how could you be so stupid!" a hushed voice mocks between sobs, interrupting the quiet evening. It's emanating from one of the many hollows that dot the school's corridors and Sanguini approaches silently. He deliberates over interrupting the girl before optimistically presuming that the vampiric aspects of his personality are well enough under control for him to safely interact with the girl one-on-one.

She clearly does not expect company; the appearance of the slender, raven-haired vampire startles her and she gasps when she catches sight of him and hurriedly wipes her wet cheeks.

"I beg your pardon," he murmurs silkily. "I couldn't help but hear your distress. Are you alright?"

"Oh, fine," she jitters self-consciously.

"I do not believe you for a second," he informs her honestly, taking a seat beside her. For some reason, the statement makes her laugh – a tinkling sound that breaks the night with a hint of bitterness.

"Can't fool you," she mumbles. "But still, the reason wouldn't interest you at all. Schoolgirl dramas couldn't possibly be of import to someone so-" she drops off and blushes.

"So?" he prompts.

She's pink-cheeked with embarrassment but answers him regardless. "I was going to say 'so obviously a part of high society'but then I thought it was a bit rude."

He barks out a laugh at her honest reply and examines his fine robes with a fond expression. "I can see how you might think it, but a flawless appearance doesn't necessarily equate to a high-flying social life."

"I suppose."

He takes pity on her. "You aren't obliged to tell me," he notes kindly. She simply snorts. "Of course, it may make you feel better."

The girl –Lavender, did she call herself?– bites her lip self-consciously before launching reluctantly into her story. Once she begins, however, the words rush forward with all the power of a flood; Sanguini was right, speaking of it relieves her of a certain weight, encouraging her to tell all without once checking herself.

She speaks of Ron, and Hermione Granger, and how being pretty is sometimes worse than being ugly because everybody thinks that you've nothing going on inside your head which absolutely isn't true; she mentions kissing Ron for the first time, and how happy she was with him, and finally the monologue catches up with time: Ronald, half asleep and delirious on his bed in the infirmary cried out not her name, the name of his _girlfriend_, but that of plain old know-it-all 'Hermione'. At this she bursts into tears, prompting Sanguini to pat her knee gently in a gesture of comfort.

"Boys, I fear, will never do anything but inflict heartache and suffering on their particular female acquaintances," Sanguini comments with a sad smile once she has composed herself again. "Take it from me – I was one, you know, once upon a time."

It coaxes a hint of a smile, and the pair lapse into a brief silence.

She's absentmindedly fiddling with her hair – drawing it to one side and aimlessly combing her fingers through the strands – when her scent washes over him with terrifying pungency. He has managed thus far to maintain dominance over his bloodlust in her presence but the heady scent bodes to overwhelm: his pupils dilate until they resemble nothing more than two black holes piercing his skull.

Too close, he realises in panic as his mind splits in turmoil. He is sitting far too close and the bloodlust is awake.

The smell of her, human and sweet, is tantalising and Sanguini pulls back sharply from where he has been leaning in towards the pale column of her throat. The bloodlust is whispering in his mind. _Trace your fingers down that slender neck_, it encourages. _Taste her; bite her; feel her writhing against you – powerless!_

His nostrils flare as the scent of the witch-child pervades his very being, the bloodlust slowly rising in obduracy. _Take her now; she will adore you for the gift you bestow._

The hands that reach out to grasp her face in a gentle, but unbreakable, grip do not feel like his own and he barely registers the shock in her cerulean blue eyes as he guides her head, baring her throat like a pastel column; he does not feel her struggle to be free.

Yet while the vampire itches to draw crimson across her snow white neck, something holds him back and it is only falteringly that he brings his face close, inhaling her as he traces his aristocratic nose from the dip at her collarbone to the juncture of her jaw.

His open mouth lazily trails a line of saliva down her neck like thread from a spider's web, and his powerful incisors threaten to puncture, indenting the skin but not yet piercing it. The beat of her heart is strong in her throat; he can feel it thrum against his lips.

Her heartbeat; he can feel it.

Her _heartbeat_.

Sanguini flings himself away with monumental effort, crushing the edge of the stone bench with the force of his hold, while Lavender flies immediately to the opposite wall, huddling there in terror.

"Flee, foolish girl," he hisses in agony. "Before I lose control to It."

It is fighting him, willing him to turn her or tear out her throat. Thankfully, though, she does not need any further encouragement; she disappears into the candlelit corridor and vanishes into the safety of the castle's bowels, leaving him to regain control over his darkness alone.

It has been fourteen years since he last killed a human prize, but the temptation has never been as strong as with this blonde Gryffindor. He wonders if she will realise just how close she was to eternity.

His instability this evening has been frightening and instead of continuing to the Christmas party the vampire leaves the castle intent on returning home. From there he will send his apologies to the professor and Headmaster, too, who will, he is sure, pass on his profound request for forgiveness to the girl – to _Lavender_, he amends.

As it stands, Sanguini the vampire will not venture forth again for a while a yet; he came too close to destroying a child's life this night.

_Hogwarts has not changed in two hundred years_, he thinks bitterly as he flees the castle. _But then,_ _for all my arrogant masquerades,_ _neither have I._

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><p><strong>End.<strong>

**Read and review responsibly, please and thank you, but don't ask me where this came from because I've no flaming clue! It was a bit of fun, though.**


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